Boiling Marijuana!


The other day i wrote about my ideal woman. My dear Sister Yvonne offered to carry out auditions for that position at the village where i was born, the village where i learnt and loved to read about ‘son of the soil’ in the Nyayo days, where i sketched my destiny on the red earth amid the scorching sun, seated on My rock; our village has donkeys and many old men and big beautiful women who eat boiled goat tongue and soup and know nothing about Pizza or Mayonnaise; the village i no longer visit anymore!

It’s been years since i have been there; the last time i ‘swung by’ i was enroute to Naivasha for work and play. I mean, that’s what my previous job entailed. I got paid to work and play. It was Christmas and there was lots of food and Nyama choma. My crew really enjoyed the bites my family had prepared, i did too.

I was surprised at how big my cousins had grown. Yvonne and my other sister Jackie were looking splendid and gorgeous and they almost brought me to the ground as they rushed to hug me! i had to keep telling my crew to focus on the Nyama Choma not on our beautiful women! Joan, my other younger siz was showing signs of being as gorgeous when she grew up.

I didn’t stay long, had a van full of technical crew and a client waiting for us in Cray Fish, Naivasha.

Such a shame i only visit my village like a bee, stopping by briefly to suck the nectar and then hitting the road to lay my head on other distant hearths. Such a shame!

Perhaps one day i will visit and stay longer. Stand in the open field and let the unpolluted village air caress my cheeks and remind me of my boyhood days when life was so simple and good. Sleep between the rows of green maize stalks and feel the tickle of the branches on my bare skin; perhaps it will bring back the memories of roasting maize in our kitchen while it rained gently outside. Rain always made play time betterNelly and i sliding on the mud enjoying the rain as the grownups talked about the harvest and the lactating cow and the pregnant cat.

I might try and spend some time with the elders in the village, aging men and women who knew me since i was a boy. Am not sure what we would talk about but it should be a pleasure listening to them spin tales of old when life was life, full and beautiful. I no longer see the beauty of life amid all these technology and social media stuff and eish.

Oh, and my ‘age mates’ too; age mates based on having shared the same initiation year. These are guys we had played ball together when we were younger prior to circumcision. Later on we tried hanging together but my mother Waithera had put such high standards and expectations for me i never seemed to fit in this group. Their ambition was to burn and sell charcoal (am not making this up), work at the slaughter house in Dagoretti, become contraband lumber jacks illegally felling down trees at Ngong forest without planting any in return.

They used to steal our donkey at night to ‘smuggle’ the felled trees. In the morning the donkey would be too tired to even stand up, or even eat!

I in turn found solace and meaning in the written word; literature books and novels. My age mates disliked books, i loathed their choice of careers. Seemingly, we were treading different paths.

I just might want to see how they have fared, how life has changed them for we are all bound to change with the tides of time along the way. What would we talk about? My blog? Their never changing L shape design homes? How taking their heifer to a bull is better than artificial insemination? Or maybe we could just sit and reminisce of days we used to race each other as we went to fetch water!

I wonder whether they still smoke marijuana!

Oh, talking of heifers, there was this vet who used to inseminate our cows; Jane and Monica and Kairetu. I found the whole thing disgusting coz the cows seemed to be in so much pain, the way they arched their bodies said it all. I rather much preferred a bull inasmuch as it carried out the business in the roughest of ways!

I will have to visit my village and stay just a little longer!

So, a brief intro for my Ideal woman; Hi Ideal woman, i have a name that was chosen for me when i was born; for now just call me Abu Amirah. If i like your smile i will let you call me Abu. I am the son of Waithera, she ain’t around so fortunately or unfortunately you will not have the pleasure and pressure of having a mother in law.

Umm…i guess that does it for an intro. Oh, just one more thing, my Chinese tea tastes like boiled marijuana; weird, right?

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